


Lost Another One

by irishnaturaldisaster



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: C!Dream is obviously not a nice guy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Violence, Philza Has Wings, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo has a bit of a Mental Breakdown, Suicide, Tubbo is a goat hybrid, minor reference to blood, sbi as a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishnaturaldisaster/pseuds/irishnaturaldisaster
Summary: In which Tommy jumps off the ledge in the nether to his death and doesn’t return like his brother did.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 291
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Lost Another One

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few notes to set up where this takes place in the cannon's narrative:
> 
> \- Takes place before the events of Dec 16th  
> \- SBI are cannon family (Techno can pry this from my cold dead hands)  
> \- The abuse Tommy undergoes and the way he handles it are a lot worse than cannon
> 
> Now that's over with pls enjoy!!
> 
> Also I'm using the UK spelling of certain words, just to let you know :D

Tommy sat, faded eyes staring off at the sparkling sea in front of him. Today was really the day huh? He had marked this date in the book underneath his bed, and every night before he slept, he carved another line onto the page, counting down to the day where he would finally be free, away from harsh, cold hands and venom laced words from his ~~best friend~~ his enemy? Tommy didn’t know anymore. Thinking about Dream caused his head to ache and scream out in anger and confusion. Half of him wanted to run into the masked man’s arms whenever he entered through the glimmering nether portal, seeking comfort in his strong arms and cold words. The other half wanted to take a sword to his throat and scream at him, blame him for everything that had gone wrong in his life. But that wouldn’t be exactly true would it? All this time, since his exile had taken place, he was constantly reminded of his shortcomings, his failures as a friend, an ally, a son, and a brother. Dream never held back when he was addressing him, a part of him that Tommy had grown to appreciate. This was a time where he was supposed to be learning from his mistakes, but it was hard to learn when everything you seem to do is wrong and selfish. 

According to Dream, who tends to have the best knowledge on all of this as far as Tommy is concerned, he was selfish. Writing an apology to Tubbo, George, and the people of L’manburg, was selfish, cruel and undeserving. Why should he be given the right to apologies when he has already done so much harm to the people he loved. Tommy was the true monster in this world, not Dream, not the Government, all of this was his fault. Tommy hid further behind his knees, burying his feet under the warm sand to attempt to gain some sort of comfort from the world around him. He hasn’t felt comfort in a long time. The hugs from Dream were always followed with a punch to the stomach or a swift kick to the knees leading to him collapsing on the floor and Dream standing over him. Food hasn’t tasted good for weeks now, he barely eats, only managing to swallow down food when Dream forced fed him. The only time he ever felt anything was when he scrawled another line on his page, counting down the days till his demise and when he brought that same behaviour to himself. Dream had noticed the self-inflicted cuts littering his arms and tutted at him, calling the behaviour selfish and undeserving. Tommy was just being a drama queen, always seeking attention for doing selfish things.

Tommy sighed, moving to stand up, dusting the sand off him and turning to his nearby ender chest. He stored his armour, despite knowing he’d never return for it and gently grasped his compass in his hand. He stared at it for a while, before shoving it into his pocket and grasping the emerald his father gave him. He held it above his heart, wishing that he had his father’s wings wrapped around him right now, hiding him away from the rest of the world. But nobody came. Tommy placed the emerald beside his compass, before heading towards the Nether portal. The swirling purple called to him. It was his time. 

He trudged through the nether, his body feeling heavier and heavier as he traipsed forward. He eyed the Pigmen warily, knowing that if a Piglin was around he’d already be dead, having no gold on him to spare himself of their territorial behaviour. He wonders if that would be a better way to go, before deciding against it. It would remind him too much of his brother. He finally reached his destination, arriving at the bridge that hung precariously over the sea of lava. He felt warm here, welcomed, like the hugs he’d receive from his family back when he was a child or the bread he ate in L’manburg, baked by his best friends. It’s been a while since he felt this great. He sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts, trying to decide what his final words to the world should be. He doesn’t have any regrets. He stopped caring about the discs weeks ago. He knows that his relationship with Tubbo is beyond damaged and he knows that his family hates him, hanging out without him in a place that he can never visit. Tommy sighed, standing up and staring longingly down at the pit below him. He wanted to go; he was ready to go. He was ready to die.

“Tommy?” a quiet voice called, and Tommy cursed under his breath. Of course his brother decides to show up now, after leaving him alone for weeks on end. Tommy turned and regarded the spirit passively, eying him in a way that forced the ghost to stay back. Ghostbur started at his brother, eyes wide and fearful. He’d never seen Ghostbur look like this before. “Tommy what are you doing? Step back, you could fall.” Ghostbur explained, his soft voice seeming to echo around them as Tommy just stood and started, his pale eyes almost looking through the ghost. He smiled lightly before fully turning around to face his brother. 

“Wilby. Do you remember what Eret said, way back in the day when everything first went to hell?” Tommy questioned, watching as his brother tried hard to remember what their old friend had said. It seemed to finally click for him, as Tommy watches the panic seep into his form. He took a few hesitant steps forward toward him and Tommy just smiled at him. “It was never meant to be” He sighed, finally at peace as he titled his body over the ledge and into the swirling pool of lava. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Far away, hidden amongst the tundra weather and climbing spruce, a small cottage lies. The chimney puffed out happy grey clouds and the sound of carefree voices could be heard emanating nearby. One would hardly think that this was the home of a retired war criminal, but then again, looks can be deceiving. Technoblade stood back to admire his and his father’s work, a massive bee aviary now sat at the back of their humble home. The Piglin hybrid turned to face his father, the man smiling slightly at their little creation. It wasn’t much, wasn’t ever going to be as big as the one L’manburg had been promising to its citizens, but it was good enough for them. 

Since Wilbur’s death, Phil rarely smiled anymore, rarely let out the belly laughs that he used to when they were kids. Techno missed them dearly, the voices missed them too and were always scrambling with ways to make him feel better. When they realised violence wasn’t the answer they would hide away, trying desperately to formulate some semblance of a plan to make the other man smile. Nothing really worked. Except for Tommy, Tommy had worked for a while. The two of them had visited Tommy during his first week of exile and their father got a big kick out of watching the youngest of the three brothers beat up the older one, who couldn’t really fight back without injuring the armour-less child. Techno’s voices seemed to pick on his line of thinking, telling him to do something stupid, pull some slapstick humour out on himself to make his father laugh. Techno rolled his eyes before charging into the bee sanctuary.

“The voices are demanding bee blood Phil, I need the Bee Blood, type B blood! Jesus Christ the voices are bad at puns Phil, they are almost as bad as you are Phil. Oh god!” Techno cried as he charged through the habitat, startling the poor bees into flying away in hoards. Phil jumped at his son’s sudden behaviour before smiling at the other, as the bees seemed to swarm him in confusion. He saw right through Techno’s little stunt but was happy to see that his son did indeed care about him. Suddenly, Phil laughed as he watched his oldest son chase around the bees in their aviary, almost doubling over when the Piglin Hybrid slipped on an overflowing hive of honey. His communicator beeped cheerfully from his pocket and he reached for it, still chuckling as Techno promised swift and brutal vengeance on the gloopy pile of golden ooze. He glanced at the device for a moment and his world froze, his core chilling faster than the winds of the tundra ever could. His laughter died in his throat, a choked-out noise echoing out of him that caused Technoblade to look up at him in alarm. 

_Tommyinit tried to swim in lava._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghostbur lay on the edge of the bridge in the nether, wailing out for the brother that just slipped through his fingers, holding out his hands down towards the sea of swirling hot liquid as if the boy would magically rise from it and return to his arms. If only he hadn’t waited, he could be holding his brother in his arms, telling him everything was alright, wiping his tears away. He screamed again, praying and hoping to the unseen deity that had brought him back that the same would happen to his brother, that Tommy would rise, and everything would go back to how it used to be. Before the discs, before the constant battle cries and war decrees. Back to when it was just Techno, himself, Tommy and Phil. Back when they were a family. He couldn’t really remember a time from recent memory where his family wasn’t fighting with cruel words and sharp swords. He still can’t really remember why his father had killed him. All he knows is that there is one less member in their family and the nether seems colder because of it. 

The sounds of approaching footsteps startle him out of his sorrow and he looks up hopefully, the tear tracks of blue down his face remaining as he eyed the two approaching figures. His father and his older brother. The two looked to be in similar states of disrepair, with Techno being hurriedly dressed, without his formal robe, wearing an outfit that would be more suited to a commoner than a monarch. His father wasn’t looking much better, feathers ruffled, and tear tracks down his face. They paused and regarded each other in shock before Ghostbur launched himself at his father, howling out in such pain that even the nether seemed to quite for him. Techno’s own crooning cries in his native tongue were enough to send Ghostbur further into hysterics as he looked up at his brother, watching as the tears of loss poured down his face. 

“Dad! I tired, I really did try but he jumped, and I couldn’t reach him in time and I-“ Ghostbur cried, clawing at his father’s arms like he was scared he too would fall away from him and he’d be left alone again. Alone in that haunting emptiness of an afterlife that he experienced for that short time before he was whisked back to the real world. He was terrified, he failed. Phil grasped him back just as tightly, burying his head in his son’s curls as he tried to hold back his tears. He can’t lose another one, he can’t, the first one broke him too much already. This will shatter him. He can’t, he can’t, he **_can’t._**

“Dream should have kept a better eye on him! No, it’s not Dream’s fault. But he was so harsh, so awful to Tommy, he hurt him. No! No. This is my doing. It’s my fault, all my fault. I left our baby brother alone. This is all my fault. I’m a monster.” Ghostbur wailed, Techno gently trying to placate the crying man, which Ghostbur immediately reciprocated, throwing himself into his brothers arms as he cried out apology after apology to their lost brother. Phil sat frozen, arms still outstretched in the hug that he was giving Ghostbur, eyes staring off at the faint outline of the portal to Logstedshire. Dream. Dream had done this. Despite everything that Ghostbur may say about himself, it always went back to Dream. Dream that had started these wars with his sons in the first place. Dream that had persuaded and guided his own son towards insanity. Dream that had banished and exiled Tommy. Dream that had supposedly hurt **_his_** child. 

Phil stood to attention. Flapping his wings out behind him for a moment in preparation. He pulled his netherite sword from his holster and focused his eyes on the portal to his son’s home away from home. Techno watched him warily. Watched as his father stood for a few moments, before charging forward, his wings pushing him towards the portal faster than any swiftness potion ever could. “Dad!” Techno cried, voice crackling under the emotional pressure but it was too late. Phil had already entered through the swirling purple and on to the other side. Techno gasped and held Ghostbur tighter, he can’t lose Phil too. He hopes his father stays safe, stays away from Dream. If he lost his Dad too, he doesn’t know what might happen to him. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dream!” Phil roared, stomping up to the masked man who lounged comfortably on the roof of Logstedshire, one leg dangled lazily off the side of the building. He acknowledged the other man with a jovial salute, similar to the one that Tommy used to throw around before everything around him went to shit. Phil saw red. Grabbing Dream by the ankles, he tugged, pulling him down from the roof so he sprawled in a heap at the man’s feet. “You killed my son”, he spat, pointing his netherite sword down at the masked man with steady precision. Dream scoffed, moving to lie against the walls of the home before casually patting the sword away from his neck.

“Oh come on now, I did nothing of the sort. Your stupid son simply decided it was his time to go. Who was I to argue with him, especially since it seems to run in your family to die young.” Dream teased, a faint grin poking out from under his white porcelain mask. Phil snarled, a habit he had picked up from Techno years ago, and swings his sword down, slicing Dream’s mask in two. A pair of elated green eyes shine up at him and that Cheshire grin only stretches further across his face. 

“You tricked him, You _lied_ to him. Made him believe that there was no one there for him, and just when he was at his worst, you pushed him into jumping. You. Killed. Him.” Phil growled, jabbing the other man with his sword, not enough to draw blood (yet) but enough to enunciate each point he made. Dream laughed, a hollow, booming sound.

“Oh, I didn’t need to push him too much Philza Minecraft. After all…” Dream suddenly pulled himself up by the blade of Phil’s sword, the netherite slicing open his palms in a way that should have been painful, but Dream didn’t wince, his conniving smile twisting further up his cheeks. He leaned in close, chuckling lightly before whispering in Phil’s ear.

“Weren’t you the one that left him when he needed you most?”

Phil froze, his eyes widening as his grip on the sword loosened, uncaring as it clattered down on the soft grass below them. Despite everything, Dream was right, this was just history repeating itself. His last son died because he wasn’t there for him, wasn’t a shoulder for him to lean on, he wasn’t there to wipe his tears and help fight his battles. In the past, and still to this day, Phil always tries to excuse Will’s death away with the fact that he wasn’t there. He didn’t know just how bad the situation had gotten, but this time he was here, and he still did nothing. He just sat back and watched as another one of his boys slipped through his fingers and into the clammy hands of death. Phil fell to his knees, eyes staring far ahead as tears trickled down his face. He fucked up. He killed another one of his sons. Tommy was dead. This was all his fault.

“Nice talk Philza, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” Dream chirped, clapping Phil on the shoulder, before disappearing from Phil’s line of sight. Phil didn’t register him. He was staring out down at his hands, he could still see the blood, so much blood, his son’s blood. Now his hand’s seemed darker, Tommy’s blood, he killed his other son, he was a vile man. What right did he have to be a father? Phil yelled out throwing his fists down on the grass below him and pulling and tearing at the thin blades as his heart shattered. He lost another one, his youngest, his Tommy was gone. 

Phil continued to pound the ground, calling out for his son that will never come home, calling out for his other son that died by his blade, he called out and demanded answers for a universe that would never answer him. He continued to sob, ignoring the feeling of two pairs of hands holding his shoulders, ignoring the accompanying sobs from a pair of brothers that had lost so much so quickly. Ignoring how Ghostbur begged the world to take him back so Tommy could return in his place. Ignoring how Techno cried to a god that they both knew would never answer. They cried for their puzzle piece that would never click back into place. But Phil didn’t acknowledge them, he continued on in his own world, not listening to the world around him. Philza Minecraft ignored everything, just like he had always done.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The funeral was a sorry affair. The people of L’manburg wept for a soldier, while the government wept for a friend and a brother. Phil and Technoblade had been granted temporary immunity to travel to L’manburg where the funeral was taking place. Techno was furious, the nation that cast his brother aside, that caused the demise of another and refused to admit to their mistakes wanted, no, _demanded_ that they host Tommy’s funeral and plant his gravestone in their city centre. He had promised Phil no violence today, but the voices in his head kept screaming at the unfairness of it all, and he had to agree. L’manburg had another thing coming if they thought they could take another one of his brothers from him. Still, Techno sat silent in the back, watching as people who didn’t really know his brother came forward and talked about how much he meant to them. Techno wanted to scoff, none of these people cared for Tommy, they were the ones who voted for his exile. This was all their fault, they don’t deserve to mourn him. 

Techno refused to acknowledge the empty coffin at the front of the ceremony. Acknowledging that meant acknowledging that his brother was gone and both him and his voices agreed that was not happening. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge the fact that Tommy would never be coming home. He turned and looked at the rest of his family, watching as Ghostbur turned more blue every time someone called out his brother’s name. His father wasn’t fairing much better, looking as if he aged a hundred years in the span of seconds. His wings were drooped, with feathers sometimes dropping to the floor in random bursts. He had his eyes focused ahead, staring at the world in front of him through unseeing eyes. He still had tears racing down his cheeks and had yet to stop crying since Tommy had died.

“We don’t even have a body” Phil had whispered as they walked through the streets of L’manburg towards the funeral. That was something that stuck with Techno even during Tommy’s quote unquote burial (if you could call a burial without a corpse a burial), watching as they lowered the coffin into the same graveyard that they buried Schlatt in. The voices scoffed at that, L’manburg burying their “war hero” alongside an evil dictator, seemed to fit in with their ideologies. Techno was only now realising the extent to what his father’s words meant. With Wilbur, there was a body, Phil got to hold his son before he died, Techno got to ruffle his brown locks and squeeze his shoulder before the placed him in the coffin and Tommy got to hold his hand tightly before the lid was closed, shutting him down in the ground forever, under the tree that was named after the nation he created. They had some semblance of closure after Will’s death, they got to say their last goodbyes. With Tommy, that would never be the case. The last time Techno had properly hugged Tommy or gave him any source of comfort was back in the depths of Pogtopia and he will never be able to do that again. Tears sprung to his eyes at that thought and he hastily scrubbed them away. No. He couldn’t cry now. He needed to be strong for his brother and his father. He realised that for them, the touch hungry people they were, this revelation was soul crushing. 

Phil was always touching one of them in some way, he was that kind of person, it was how he showed affection. Whether it was something as simple as patting their shoulders or ruffling their hair as he walked by or greeting them with big bear hugs anytime he met up with them, Phil survived off touch. Knowing that one of his son’s was presumably touch starved for weeks and now was dead with no comfort must be killing him. Techno reached down gently and clasped his fathers hand, not making eye contact with the other man as he did so. Phil immediately reciprocated, clasping the hand back in a fierce grip as he cried harder, sobs breaking out from him every once and a while when it was too hard to hide them. Techno looked over at Ghostbur, while Alivebur was more a man of words of affirmation than soft loving touches, Ghostbur enjoyed them more, they left him feeling warm. Techno reached out and grabbed his brother’s hand, ignoring how it stained his own hand a dark, sombre blue. Ghostbur squeezed back gently, but otherwise said nothing. The three of them stood in silence as they watch the dirt pile up on the spruce wood coffin.

Tubbo approached them at one point, Techno doesn’t remember exactly when. He tried to speak with Phil, but Phil brushed past him, moving to stand next to his son’s grave. He paused to stand in front of it, tracing the letters of Tommy’s name over and over again before he broke down, collapsing in front of it and hugging the tombstone to his chest. Ghostbur was by his side in an instant, trying and failing to console his father through his own tears. Tubbo made a move to approach them but was stopped by a fierce glare thrown his way by Technoblade. As far as he was concerned, Tubbo was a central player in all of this. He shoved past his brother’s once best friend, moving to try and hold his family together.

Beside Tommy’s tombstone lay a few important trophies and trinkets that people knew he cherished dearly. The Minecraft family had brought along some of Tommy’s old favourite wooden swords and helmets, now rotting with age but still holding a lot of value to the family. Techno was surprised to see their father give them up so easily, but then realised that these were just a few out of thousands that Phil had in the attic at their home. These probably weren’t even Tommy’s most cherished ones. Fundy lay down a crocheted cow, meant to resemble his brother’s lost cow Henry. That was one of the weirder skirmishes that Techno has ever been involved in because of his brothers but looking back, he’s glad he was involved. At least it was something to add to the collection of memories he had of his brother. Quackity approached cautiously, clearly afraid of facing Philza’s wrath if he caused the man any more upset. He quickly dropped the mask of Mexican dream, a person that had caused Tommy lots of laughter in the few weeks before his exile. Phil threw the man a tired smile but otherwise said nothing. Techno mearly nodded. Quackity held his eyes for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something to the hybrid or challenge him to something. Instead the man turned around and walked back into L’manburg. Several more people attended and dropped gifts for their fallen friend, Eret and Nikki brought some bread and cookies that had been Tommy’s favourites, Ranboo placed a few flowers around the tombstone, and many others offered up similar trinkets of affection. Then, as cautiously as Quackity had approached, Tubbo stepped towards the tombstone. Techno watched him, almost as if he was expecting some frivolously form of apology from the goat hybrid but Tubbo said nothing. He kept his head down before swiftly placing Mellohi, Tommy’s music disc, against the tombstone, before turning and running away. Phil reached out to him but made no move to follow him, tied to the earth in front of his youngest son’s grave like he was shackled there. Techno glared at the disc as if it might spring out a try to kill him at any moment. This had all started because of those stupid discs, those objects that Tommy had cared so much about, that this stupid nation had gone to war over. He wanted to reach out and snap the thing in two, throw it deep in the sea, burn it in fire. But he couldn’t, not when his father looked at it so fondly or when Ghostbur toyed with the edges of it with a small smile on his face. He would sit in silence like he always had done and be there to comfort his family. He held them close again, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That day, L’manburg, as a nation, wept. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quackity stood with spread palms over a table in a hidden bunker. Propaganda surrounded him at every angle, calling for the death of a certain Piglin Hybrid by any means necessary. He inhaled sharply and exhaled in the same manner, clenching his eyes shut and digging his fingers into the table. Then in a moment he sprung up, stabbing his sword on the wooden table in anger before turning to the surrounding room. The mocking eyes of Technoblade started back at him, seemingly teasing him for his ignorance, his hubris in believing that Tommy would be okay in exile. Quackity charged towards them, tearing every poster from the walls with his fingers, screaming and hollering until his throat was sore and his fingertips were cracked and bleeding. He screamed and cried and cursed to a god that didn’t exist, to a creature that was too powerful for him to control and a friend that he would never get back. He cried until he couldn’t see anymore, until his body collapsed, and he fell against the hard stone walls, surrounded by trashed bloody paper and the sounds of his own harsh breathing. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fundy retreated to a place he’d never thought he return to. He clawed away at the dirt and rubble until eventually the faint outline of signs and a chair could be found. He burrowed deeper, stopping when he could stand in the room and lit a torch. He squinted slightly at the change of lighting before gently placing the torch on the floor. The room was just as they had left it that faithful day. The walls were covered in the hastily carved signposts of a madman, his father, reading out the ideals of a free nation, the once national anthem of his home. It doesn’t feel right to call it that anymore. Fundy ran his hands over his father’s handwriting and wonders if he would be proud of what transpired over the past few weeks. He knows that towards the end, his Dad wasn’t really there anymore, but that doesn’t stop his heart from aching at the thought of his father holding his youngest brother in his arms. Fundy teared up, his heart aching for both the Father and Uncle that he lost, it seemed that just as he recovered from his father, Tommy had come out of nowhere and knocked him back down. Fundy purposefully ignored the ancient red pool of dried blood that stained the corner of the room and turned instead to the wooden chair that took centre stage. He circled it for a few moments, watching it as if he expected Wilbur himself to jump up from it before curling himself into a small ball and lying in it. At least here, he could cry and mourn in peace.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The white house was quite for the first time in weeks. There was no discussion of festivals, of building plans, of parties. The bee project had been put on hold, seemingly indefinitely. The demise of Technoblade had yet to leave the lips of any citizen since they saw the war criminal at the funeral. And there, in the main office, sat Tubbo, alone and staring at the desk in front of him. He felt nothing, hollow and empty, almost like he had felt before he found Tommy all those years ago, before they made friends, before he joined their family ~~_YOU WERE NEVER ONE OF THEM_~~ Tubbo shook his head, trying to expel the negative thoughts from his mind. He knows feeling numb is wrong, feeling nothing is bad, a dangerous feeling. A feeling that would lead to him doing something he regretted. He really didn’t want to think right now, he couldn’t stand to think right now because this was all his fault. If he had just stuck to plan, hadn’t forced Tommy out, maybe the boy would still be here. Sitting on Tubbo’s desk, complaining about whatever had been going wrong that day while Tubbo watched him with a patient and fond smile. He looked to that space, that empty space where Tommy once sat, as his thoughts screamed at him. _YOU DID THIS. YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT. HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU. HE IS GONE BECAUSE OF YOU. PHIL LOST ANOTHER SON. PHIL IS NEVER GOING TO RECOVER. PEOPLE ARE CRYING BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU ARE A MONSTER. EVIL. DEMON. YOU ARE JUST LIKE **HIM.**_ Tubbo shrank back in the way too big office chair and reached a shaking hand under the desk to a hidden compartment. He knew Schlatt had always kept a secret stash in here, and he doesn’t think anyone has touched it yet. He popped open the draw and his eyes glossed over as he the light caught against the shining brown bottle. He pulled it out and held it for a moment, starling longingly at the elixir inside. How did Schlatt open these again? He’d seen him do it a hundred times over, and the movements came to him almost like second nature. He slammed the lid against the desk, watching as the bottle cap flew off into some unseen corner of the room before looking down at the amber liquid. It called out to him, promising ignorance and freedom from his thoughts. Tubbo took a hug swig and prepared more bottles. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranboo paced, walking up and down his room. He’d walk all the way to the door. Paused. Then turned back, repeating the process until his feet were aching and begging for a break. He was sad, he was miserable, totally inconsolable. But why? He didn’t know why? Why did he feel this way, like this? What had happened to him, what had he done? He remembers falling asleep last night, well really falling unconscious, he couldn’t sleep ~~_he didn’t remember why_~~. He awoke to tears staining his pillow and his name being gently called from his door. He remembers a funeral for a person he can’t remember, he remembers tears and mourning echoing through a land that he always remembered as peaceful and happy. He claws at his head for answers, releasing a cry of pain when he accidentally draws blood. Why was everyone sad? What happened, what happened, w ** _hat HAPPENED????_** Ranboo collapsed on the floor, holding his aching head and rocking in the corner, his mind mourning for a person that he couldn’t even remember. A person that died, because of him? Was it his fault? Did he do this?! He couldn’t remember. He never will remember.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eret looked down at the tombstone, standing next to a sobbing Nikki. They read and reread the name, his name, over and over and over again until all his brain could think about was Tommyinit. They didn’t cry at the funeral, they didn’t say a word, they hadn’t spoken since they heard the news. Nikki spoke for them, like she always did when things got too much for them. She was their rock, just like they were hers. But now both of them were lost, crumbled and broken by the continuous crashing waves of loss and neither knew what to do. Nikki’s first response was always to feel. She felt things differently than Eret every could and they would forever be jealous that they could never express themselves like she could. Eret tends to try and find ways to solve the problem, that’s what they did in the first war, they realised that they weren’t getting out alive and fled, siding with the people that would assure their safety like the coward they were. They didn’t cry when Tommy died then and they couldn’t cry now, their body refused to allow them to cry selfishly for the boy they had a hand in killing. Nikki cried for both of them that day, while Eret’s thoughts of grief and regret echoed around them. Maybe if they hadn’t betrayed them all in the first place this wouldn’t have happened. They were an idiot, a traitor and a fool and now karma had caught up with them and made them face their mistakes head on. They took one of Tommy’s lives and now Tommy was gone. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghostbur remained blue. He had yet to change since Phil’s first encountered him in the nether, collapsed on the floor and reaching desperate hands down towards the lava pit below him. He felt hollow for the first time since his awakening. He haunted the graveyard. He could always be found sitting by Tommy’s tombstone night and day, staining the grass blue around him as he waited, hoping that his brother would return like he had. Sometimes he’d float through the nether, calling and screaming his brother’s name until somebody found him and brought him back to Techno or Phil, a crying blubbering mess. For the first time ever, Ghostbur blamed himself, yelled at himself in the reflection of puddles and lakes of water for not doing enough, for not being there for his little brother. For not standing vigil and showering him with love. He misses him so dearly and he can’t even remember when he last saw the boy smile. He slowly starts to become a legend and myth to wandering travellers. The wailing ghost that haunts the graveyard, screaming and howling for a brother that will never return to him. The locals don’t have the heart to tell the visitors that the tales are true.

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Phil rarely laughed anymore, barely even spoke unless spoken to, and even then, his answers were usually clipped and to the point. He moved in with Technoblade officially once the funeral was over, a promise to himself to be close to his last remaining son and make sure that this one would stay alive longer than him. Seemingly everything reminds him of the boy he lost, the way the turtles and the bees play with one another, the sound of music discs, certain blocks, it’s almost too painful for Phil to bare at times. 

He returns to the graveyard a lot these days, the feud between his only alive son and the nation of L’manburg had died the same day Tommy had, the one saving grace of the whole affair. He sometimes met with people along the way, they never stopped to chat, they knew he wouldn’t answer. They shot him the occasional nod of support or threw him pitiful glances, but Phil could care less. He was simply a husk of who he once was at this point. Only staying alive for Technoblade, if he weren’t around, Phil had to presume he wouldn’t be either.

In the dead of the night, when he knew Techno was too tired to fight back, he’d cling to his oldest son, sobbing into his shoulder as he wrapped his wings around him protectively. Techno would try and console him, explaining comedically that ‘Technoblade never dies’ in any attempt to placate his heartbroken father but that would just make the man cling to him tighter, holding him as if those words alone would summon his oldest son’s death to their door. The days where Ghostbur would be brought back to them, blue and sobbing, were the hardest for him. He’d hold the ghostly remains of his second oldest in his arms and tied not to break down all over again. Ghostbur was a constant reminder of his own failings as a father. At least, when he wasn’t in L’manburg, he could pretend and lie to himself that Tommy was still alive, just off with Tubbo in a field somewhere, messing around with the nature that surrounds them. Ghostbur serves as a reminder, a constant stab in his heart, that he had killed not only one son, but two through his sheer neglect. 

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Techno pretended that it never happened. He kept himself busy, creating armour and weapons, hunting mobs in the wilds and the nether, and travelling from server plain to server plain, killing any pvp gods that stood in his path. His voices called for violence more often than peace these days, begging for revenge on the world that murdered his brother in cold blood. He became somewhat of a hitman, being paid to murder many government figure heads and country leaders. His name was whispered in hushed fear throughout the surrounding server plains and anyone who came across him tended to give him a wider berth than usual. Techno only realised recently that when he travelled between server lands, he was usually always accompanied by Tommy, who tended to soften his public image. Tommy made him appear like a real person, a brother, instead of a murderous blood god. 

Techno rarely let himself sleep, knowing that his dreams would only be haunted by the figures of his two brothers, screaming that this was all his fault, reminding him that he should’ve been a better brother, should’ve been there to look out for them. Tommy was exiled twenty fucking minutes away from his home for Christ sake, he had no excuse to not visit his brother. Tommy had been hurting and he had ignored him. Wilbur had been spiralling and he encouraged him. Every time his brothers reached out for him, he slapped their hands away, only helping to either isolate them further or aid in their mental deterioration. Techno blamed himself, no matter what his father said, he was at fault here, he had always been the families protector and the two tombstones that now lay in L’manburg served as a constant reminder to how he let his family down on two separate occasions. 

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Dream smiles casually as he eyes his chessboard. Over the years the pieces have danced from side to side, and place to place, every advancement making Dream smile as the odds tipped to his favour. He held two white pieces joyfully, turning them over in his hands before placing them to the side. He pushed a black piece towards the centre of the board before looking out over the horizon. The white house lay in that direction, he remembered from Tommy’s stupid compass. Dream smiled again, thinking of the naïve boy who sat in that big empty room, in that large swivel chair, completely alone. He picked up another piece and pushed it to one side. Another player was out of the ring. Dream always liked to believe he was fair (he had allowed the other team to be the white team after all, they got to make two moves each turn) and as the saying goes, all’s fair in love and war. While upset that he hadn’t gotten to taint Tommy’s piece with black like he had for Wilbur’s he was still elated that it had been removed from the board, with Tubbo’s following shortly after as all good things should. He eyed his next victim, looking for the next easy target before landing on Philza’s piece. After all, after an alcoholic, the next broken man would be the one that lived to see his sons die.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! For those of you that are waiting for my IT fanfiction to update I am so sorry lol. I am working on the last chapter and I plan on making it as long as possible for you guys! Also be expecting more MCYT fanfiction in the future, it is my new hyperfixation haha.


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